


Scenes From the Many Lives Of

by furiedheart



Category: Chris Hemsworth - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Amusement Parks, Bank heists, Broken Noses, Chokers, Dance Clubs, Drag Queens, Dressing in Drag, Fear of roller coasters, Ghosts, Glitter, Guns, Hauntings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, bloody noses, carnivals, child spirits - Freeform, compilation of one-shots, descriptions of roller coaster rides, hall of mirrors, hiddlesworth one-shots, hostages, hot pants, robbers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4329693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/pseuds/furiedheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: moved into a haunted house and asks if they can stay at the other person's house for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night Noises

**Author's Note:**

> This might ring familiar to my story "Of Earth, Eternal" but only because it is about another haunting of sorts. Chris is not the entity. 
> 
> I wrote this many weeks ago during one of my more frustrating moments writing something else. I hope you all enjoy it. It's much shorter than my usual work.
> 
> Each chapter will be a new one-shot, with warnings given in the notes at the beginning. More chapters to come. I'm already working on #2 and #3.
> 
> Thanks, everyone!
> 
> And thanks to my [beta](http://duskyhuedladysatan.tumblr.com), for being you. 
> 
> Warnings for: ghosts, hauntings, hot neighbors, spooky noises

The scratches on the window were normal. So were the creaking stairs at night. Just branches. Just the house settling in. It had to be. Tom had made it through nearly three weeks of living in his new place before what happened the night before. But sleep hadn’t come easily the past few nights. He’d gotten only a handful of hours since midweek. The night noises that started up without fail had kept him from getting more rest. The stairs creaked. The windows scratched. The doorknob would turn, a circular, metallic click, click, click that launched him upright in bed, eyes dismally useless in the dark. Every hair would rise, every sense on alert, his instinct to run flaring. And then they would stop suddenly, or recede deeper into the house where he couldn’t hear, and he would sleep for a short while before disturbed once more by a sound he couldn’t explain. He’d been tired, admittedly, and shouldn’t have eaten the rest of the ice cream left in the carton – too much dairy gave him nightmares, which made him jumpy, which made him imagine things. And if he’d been dreaming, he didn’t remember what about. The only thing he remembered from tonight was the feel of a tiny hand on the instep of his foot, soft as a feather, chubby fingers squeezing his big toe.

It was the first time he’d been touched.

Startled, a scream sat lodged painfully in his throat. Fleeing down the hall, he spent the rest of the night curled up in the wicker chair on his back porch. The sky was an inky splotch of purple, the city’s lights keeping it from becoming a true darkness, but still his eyes rolled in terror, trying to catch the origin of every passing shadow, every fleeting caress of breeze. The rustling plants became hulking beasts, and he suddenly felt so small under the great canvas of night sky. Knees drawn up to his chest, fingers pressed to his mouth, Tom sat convincing himself that he was an adult man of twenty-eight and that he needed to be able to sleep in his own house without fear, and that his first instinct should not have been to run to his next door neighbor’s house.

Chris. Of the wavy blond hair and that tempting widow’s peak; of the thick lashes and big veined hands. His chuckle, when Tom had heard it that first time, was like settling thunder.

Tom closed his eyes, and felt immediately calmer. Chris had introduced himself a couple of days after Tom had moved in, reaching across the fence that bordered their yards and shaking his hand in two quick muscle pumps that left Tom’s wrist aching, fingers sparking where their skin had touched. Also twenty-eight, but a good two inches taller, Chris was a stockbroker with a local firm. He had an easy smile and squinty glare that made Tom feel he was a column of lit up market numbers, scrutinized for trends and pitfalls, for a way in. Tom liked to imagine Chris drinking his morning coffee with one eye on the television, watching stocks rise and fall, phone in hand as he typed out predictions to colleagues. Because for all his apparent ease and confidence, Chris seemed the type whose attentions were intense and thoughtful. He wouldn’t be afraid.

A car door slammed somewhere in the street and Tom wondered what time it was. How long had he been outside? Blinking away his fatigue, he uncurled from his crouch on the chair and hurried past his own back door, imagining eyes on him. Peering around the edge of his house, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Chris walking up his front drive, fishing for the right key on the ring in his hand. Licking his lips, Tom inched a little closer, his foot knocking into the rake he’d left propped on the wall. It clattered to the ground and he winced at the racket.

Chris snapped his gaze over to him but Tom was already stumbling out of sight, heat flooding his face. Falling back against the wall, he stared up at the moon, trying to keep his ragged breaths quiet.

He was so stupid, and so tired. Exhausted. He just wanted to sleep. What was he doing in his backyard? Creeping about like a robber? Or a pervert? It was midnight and he was in his pajamas about to sob up at the moon.

Suddenly, something snapped on the ground and a giant hand slammed over his mouth, stifling his scream. A hard arm held him by his clavicles, and Tom was pinned beneath that solid weight.

“Shut the fuck up. I’m calling the cops.”

Tom froze. It was Chris.

His voice usually warmed with kindness was now like a rough cut of concrete, growly and deep. It was always deep, but this was a violent kind of voice, and Tom thought that if it hadn’t been directed at him he would rather like it.

Twisting his neck to the side, he tried dislodging Chris’s hand.

“Hey—!”

“Chris,” he gasped. He dragged in a breath. “It’s me. It’s Tom.”

The iron grip on him quickly vanished, and Tom was left feeling colder and decidedly bruised on the wall.

“Tom. Jesus Christ. I thought you were a burglar.”

“You would confront a burglar on your own?” Tom massaged his collarbone, trying not to wince.

“For a friend, yes.”

Tom ducked his head, even though his blush could never be seen in that dark. Already Chris’s voice was different, that honey licked timbre, and Tom felt a hundred times safer with him there.

“What are you doing out here? Are you okay?”

“Oh, um.” He knew how it must look. Even though it was clear he wasn’t breaking into his own house, there was still the danger of him being thought a pervert. “I was out here because. Well. I haven’t been sleeping—and, and I think there’s some—.” He almost said some _thing_. “Someone in the house.”

Chris straightened, brows drawing low. “Like a real burglar?” He was so handsome, Tom thought, standing there in the moonlight. His thoughts, already so fatigued, started to drift with scenes of the two of them together, of how they might look. “Want me to call the cops?”

“Oh, no!” Tom jumped in, shaking his head to focus. The last thing he needed were flashing lights from the street and other neighbors poking their heads out the door just because he thought he’d felt a phantom hand on his foot. “It’s probably just my imagination. I haven’t been sleeping, like I said. And my mind is—I’m very exhausted. And sometimes I hear things since I moved in—.”

“Like a ghost?”

Tom’s mouth shut. He blinked. “What?”

Chris waited, his cufflinks winking at Tom like sparkling stars.

Tom shifted on his feet. “I don’t know if I would call it that,” he said slowly, eyes dropping to the ground. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

Folding his arms, Chris settled into a more comfortable stance, widening his legs. Tom couldn’t help a quick glance down.

“You know, the guy who lived here before you, he wasn’t very nice. Kept to himself, but always had this scowl on his face like ‘don’t even fucking approach me’, right?” Tom nodded, transfixed by the shadow of Chris’s full lips. “So I didn’t. Not like you. You’re nice, and I like saying hi to you. But this guy. His lights were on all times of night. I would even hear pots crashing and him yelling, like he was trying to hit something. If I’d known he had a family with him, I’d have called the cops. Thought he might be beating on them. But no one else lived there. It was just him. And the crashing pots and his shouts. When he moved out a few months ago, his electricity must have been active for a while longer. And even after the place was empty, I would get home to the lights on upstairs. Or in the kitchen. And when next I checked, they’d be off.”

He shrugged, and Tom took the chance to breathe, swallowing past his bout of dry mouth.

“Just saying, maybe the place is haunted, and you’re not crazy.”

Relief flooded Tom’s mind and he nearly sagged back against the wall.

“I don’t know, Chris, but there’s been so much going on in the house and whatever it is touched me for the first time tonight and I can’t go back in there and I’m already so sleep deprived—.”

“It touched you. Are you okay?”

Big hands cupped his shoulders and Tom bit back a moan, severely tempted to give in to sleep that moment, knowing he would be caught before he hit the ground.

“I was so scared. I ran out here and then I heard your car door slam and I was checking to see when the rake fell and I realize now how it must have looked. I’m not a pervert.”

He was near hysterical, babbling over the wave of fatigue that washed over him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Chris said softly, rubbing his shoulders. Standing closer now, Tom could see the length of his lashes, spanned like fronds over his cheeks. The man was divine. “You’re exhausted. You need to rest. Want me to take a look inside?”

Tom clamped his hands on Chris’s forearms, just the thought of him going in there and leaving Tom outside alone enough to make him panic again. “No! No, please. You don’t have to. I’ll just spend the night under the stars.” He half-giggled. How absurd he sounded. But Chris frowned, taking a small step closer.

“No way. You can stay at my place. I have a spare bed. Just next door to me. Spend the night there, and tomorrow we’ll come and take a look together. Okay?”

Tom watched him, blinking to soothe the dry patches on his eyeballs. “I—are you sure?”

Chris smiled. “Yes! Of course. Anything. Anything for—for a neighbor.” He nodded and dropped his hands. He stuck a thumb toward the back door. “Is it locked up?”

Numbly, Tom shook his head. Chris went to the door, and even that distance made Tom itch. “You have a spare somewhere?” Tom nodded again, and Chris flipped the lock on the doorknob. He returned to Tom’s side and took his elbow. “Come on,” he said gently, guiding Tom around the side of the house. Tom went docilely, his legs not exactly working in his state. He stumbled beside Chris, who kept him steady, following him into his own house, which was quiet and dark and had a homey kind of vanilla scent that Tom immediately found comforting and welcoming and not at all spooky like his own house had become. Chris flipped on lights and Tom blinked around at the place.

Elegant leather couches – oiled dark like almonds – sat in the front room. Through an arch, he saw a small table and part of the kitchen counter. “Just through here,” Chris said, tossing his keys on a side table. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

He politely declined, extremely aware of his bare feet and thin pajamas. Chris led him down the hall and to a bedroom. The full size bed had the look of one hardly slept in, the comforter and pillows arranged too perfectly, like in a catalog. Darkly male and clean. Tom was impressed that Chris had even taken the time to arrange it all this way, as if appearances mattered. Most men wouldn’t have, he thought.

Head clouded with misty nocturnes and the buzz of bees, he walked right past Chris and to the bed, pulling back the comforter and crawling under. Curled up against the pillows he vaguely heard Chris saying something. But he fell into the dark of sleep faster than he had ever before, marveling at how relaxed he felt in this strange house with its strange furnishings and draperies. These weren’t his things, but he didn’t care, because he felt safe for once. Sleep was easy here, and he let it take him.

**

He heard Tom thank him, faintly, mumbled into the pillows from the fluffy mound he’d turned into on the bed. Chris smiled, shutting off the light and closing the door. Unbuttoning his cuff links, he went about locking up his own house for the night, bolting the front door and double-checking the back. Tom’s presence in the spare bedroom felt nice, domestic even. In the kind of way Chris thought made sense if he ignored his own bedroom and slipped back into the one where Tom slept, the place he belonged right next to him under the sheets.

Chris sighed, shutting the door to his own room. Yanking at his tie, he sank down to the mattress, not entirely disappointed with how his night had gone. He’d been on a date, a sorry one but a date nevertheless. Wasn’t even midnight and he was already home. Typical. The guy had been decent enough but had a penchant for flicking his gaze behind Chris while they talked, or down at the menus, or even once surreptitiously glancing down at his watch. A lick of flame danced up Chris’s spine. As soon as he was able, he called for the check and told the guy he should go. The look of shock on his face did nothing to quell Chris’s anger. _What’dya think?_ Chris wanted to ask. _I’d sit around while you figured out if I was worth it. Tough shit._

He was already riled up by the time he’d arrived home, and hearing the crash over by Tom’s house had set him on edge. He paused as he shrugged out of his shoes, hoping he hadn’t hurt Tom when he tossed him up against the wall.

But the night hadn’t been completely lost. They’d spoken again, something Chris tried to do as casually and as often as he could. He’d wanted to ask him out for coffee since he moved in not even a month ago, but Tom always seemed in such a hurry, one of those really smart types that muttered to themselves and doubted every brilliant thing they did. Chris couldn’t help but stare after him every time he caught Tom coming or going, carrying an armful of books and a leather shoulder bag that seemed to hold even more books. Was he a teacher? One of those academic types who blinked up like owls from their textbooks or novels, who might jump from surprise at the slightest touch? Chris’s groin tightened from just the thought.

Even still, he remembered how Tom’s shoulders had felt beneath his hands back under the tiny moon, shaking and slender. He’d been terrified, disoriented even from lack of sleep. It made Chris want to hitch an arrow to the sun and tug it down to warm Tom, and make him less afraid.

Scrubbing his face with cold water, Chris wiped himself down and climbed into his own bed. Tomorrow he would take a look in Tom’s house. They could go right after breakfast. Maybe he’d make pancakes. With bacon. He’d been so busy with work he hadn’t really had time for such extended meals. Tonight had been the first time in months he’d gone to a nice restaurant, and that hadn’t turned out very well. In any case, maybe he’d give it another go if the person he went with was Tom. He had a feeling it would work out much better.

**

Tom slept through the morning. Chris checked on him just before noon, stepping in and looking down at him, his face flushed, the hair at his temples curling with damp. Warm sleeper. Chris left the room before he gave in to the urge to touch Tom’s cheek. He still made his breakfast, enough for two in case Tom woke up, but ended up eating alone. Mid-afternoon came and went and Tom slept on. He checked on him, of course, discovering Tom bundled somewhere different on the bed each time.

Chris usually reserved Saturdays for the gym and a movie, but he stayed in that day. He put his clothes to wash and tidied up the kitchen and living room, changed the sheets on his bed. He swept the back porch and checked the stock numbers after the Eastern Time slot updated.

It wasn’t until after five o’clock that he heard a door creak open down the hall. He was at the table, spreadsheets laid out with a calculator and spare pencils. Standing, he looked around the corner and found Tom in the hallway, blinking one eye as he rubbed the other.

“Hey,” Chris said, smiling.

“Oh, my goodness,” Tom said, voice rough from sleep. “I am so sorry. What time is it?”

“After five. Really, it’s not a problem. Get some rest?”

“Yes, thank you. It felt wonderful to sleep so deeply.” He had that sluggish way about him, like waking from the dead.

Chris nodded, hands in his pockets. He tried not to rock on his heels, because stupid. “So, are you hungry? I was just about to start dinner.”

Rubbing his elbows, Tom ducked his head shyly and Chris’s heart flipped. “Sure. Thanks.”

They set about moving together in the kitchen. Tom helped set the table, and then chopped some vegetables and stirred a pot. They bumped into each other more than once, both jumping back with little laughs and gruff apologies.

And after they ate, Tom helped with the dishes, both standing at the sink, talking quietly about Tom’s house.

“We’ll go over in a minute. Shouldn’t be anything.” Chris wiped down a dish and put it in the cabinet.

“Honestly, it probably isn’t. The stress of the move must have upset something in my head. No sleep will often cause delusion. Or so I’ve read.”

“You read a lot?” Chris thought of all those books Tom seemed to always carry.

“Yes. I actually run a bookshop downtown. _The Gilded Page_.

“I’ll have to stop in, then.”

Tom met his eyes over the running faucet, and blushed prettily.

By the time they made their way across his yard and into Tom’s property, it was dark again. Wearing a borrowed pair of sneakers, Tom crunched along the path next to him.

“Really, these aren’t necessary—it’s just across the way,” Tom had said.

“I insist,” Chris replied, not wanting Tom to cut himself on something by some miracle they’d missed the night before.

Tom searched under a rock by the front door and popped back up with a key. His house was quiet and still. Chris noted a heaviness in the air, something not necessarily stagnant, but definitely murky, as if he were walking through ink. He didn’t know if it was because the house was still so new and separate from Tom’s character, missing that quality ‘lived-in’ feeling, or if there really was something just out of sight that lingered. Tom flicked on the lights and he blinked around. Everything seemed to be in its place. Tom’s furniture was dark, with splotches of color in the picture frames and vases of flowers, the smallest feminine touches that pleased Chris.

“So this is the living room. Kitchen is through there, with another sitting room. It’s where I have the TV. And down this hall is my bedroom and a spare bedroom. With the two bathrooms.”

Chris took a walk through the main parts of the house, Tom on his heels. They flipped on lights as they went, and Tom kept glancing behind them, as if expecting someone to be there when there was not. Stepping into the mouth of the hallway, they stared down at the closed bedroom doors.

“Are we—,” Tom started but a sound from the kitchen drew them round. They spun, heads cocked. A low scrape, like wood on tile, still lingered in the air, a faint echo on their skin, pockmarked with chills. They turned to each other slowly, mouths parted.

From behind them in the dark hallway, came a small giggle, like that of a child.

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin, latching himself to Chris’s arm and peering over his shoulder. Their fingers laced.

“That was a kid,” Chris whispered, squeezing Tom’s hand. Both seemed unaware.

“It did feel like a tiny hand that touched my foot last night.” Tom rubbed his brow. “Jesus, Chris. I can’t believe this.” He turned on his heel and pulled Chris with him out of the house. They skidded to a stop on the front drive.

“Tom, let’s think about this. It sounded like a kid. Like a little girl, even. Maybe she just wanted to play with us.”

“Play? You’re joking!”

“Look. My brother comes over sometimes with his kids and they’ve left toys over the years. I have a box of them in the closet. Why don’t you leave some around your house? Maybe she’ll like them?”

Tom’s mouth opened and closed, their hands still clasped. He glanced down at them, blinking in surprise. Chris squeezed his fingers again, drawing his eyes up.

“Look. Are you willing to deal with selling your house? Moving again? Packing up? Leaving?” His eyes were sharp on Tom’s face, and there was something soft in how he blinked that gave Tom pause. “If,” Chris said, stepping closer. “You want to avoid putting yourself through more of that misery, maybe you should try, I don’t know, coexisting.”

Tom’s heart fell. This wasn’t what he expected. But what exactly _had_ he expected? For Chris to simply walk into his house and all the strange activity to mysteriously cease? If anything, he was just happy someone other than himself had been there to witness the sound and that tiny laugh.

“But you heard it, right? Chris, you heard it?”

And despite the eerie turn their evening had taken, Chris took his other hand and laughed. Thunder.

“I did! I heard it, Tom. Listen, it’s just a little kid. She’s probably lonely. They’re playful. You ever been around kids much?”

Tom shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“I can help. It’ll be okay. You don’t have to be afraid. I can help.”

They stared at each other, their shadows lost in the deepening dark of evening. Stars began to pinprick the sky as the moon topped the edges of the trees to the west when Chris reached for him. It was a hard and full embrace, the likes of which Tom hadn’t felt since he was a young boy in grade school, still receiving welcome home hugs from his mother. Stiff at first, Tom slowly relaxed against Chris, liking the extra bit of height the man had, the thicker frame, the feel of solid muscle that cradled him with a firm resolve he found comforting.

Drawing back, they held each other’s gaze, shining points of light in the dark. They should kiss. It was right. But Chris gave another wide grin and dropped his arms.

“Will you be alright tonight? You’re more than welcome to stay again.”

Tom crossed his arms and shuffled back a step. He laughed quietly. “I should try it. It’s my home. She must like me, right? To become braver like that?”

“I think so. Yeah.”

“Well. If I lose my nerve, don’t be surprised to find me at your door.”

“Anytime. Really. You’re welcome anytime.”

**

It started slowly. Chris gave him the box of toys and Tom placed them around the house, out in the open where he thought a child might have left them before scampering off. A wooden horse, a racecar, a pig-tailed Barbie doll in a nurse’s uniform, a red and green ball with a yellow star printed on the dotted plastic. Sleeping still wasn’t easy, but he managed alright in the weeks that followed. He heard the giggle a handful of times, always just out of sight, around corners. Chris was right. She was playful. And sometimes she touched him, chubby fingers on his ankle while he slept, or a quick tickle behind his knee as he brushed his teeth. It never ceased to startle him, but he always remembered Chris’s words. This was a child. She wasn’t a threat. She was lonely.

He’d named her Lucy, after the youngest sibling in the Narnia Chronicles. A smart, delightfully innocent little girl with a heart of gold. He’d gotten the idea of talking to her from Chris, who came over for dinner every other day, the nights Tom wasn’t over at his house for the same gesture.

“Hey Lucy,” Chris would say, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie. “How are you, sweetheart?” Laying a flower on the ottoman before heading into the kitchen, he would continue his conversation with Tom, both noticing how the flower would be gone by the night’s end.

“Lucy, darling,” Tom would say, rifling through his drawers. “I need my scarf. The maroon one. Have you put it somewhere? Can’t be late for work today.” And just before he would leave the scarf would be draped on one of the chairs in the front room, as if it’d been there the entire time.

When he and Chris kissed for the first time, Tom was grateful it was at Chris’s house. It made him uneasy that a child might at any moment be spying on them without their knowing. And it was a warm, lovely first kiss, over dishes after dinner. Chris leaned right over at the counter and planted his lips on Tom’s cheek. Frozen, with suds down his arm and a mouth full of voiceless words, Tom stared gutted at Chris, who smiled and waited.

The next one was only a second later and harder, more urgent, Tom’s arms wrapped around Chris’s neck, their mouths pressed to bruise. Suds everywhere, a pot shoved aside and clattering to the floor, Chris had lifted him up and hugged him close, hips grinding, sink faucet spewing water still. And sometimes he didn’t even spend the night in his own bed, laying snug against Chris’s side next door, their bodies still thrumming with echoes of all they made bloom in the other. It was with pleased gasps that Tom discovered bruises on his neck and hips, remnants of Chris’s presence there, his attention on Tom like a firebrand, and just as claiming.

But during the nights he was home, wrapped up in his own sheets and sleeping on his own pillows, Tom sometimes felt the bed dip with a tiny weight, bubbly bounces as Lucy crawled up next to him, a soft whisper in his ear. _Papa._

“Yes, darling. It’s alright.” Sleepily he would shift and turn about, settling back down again, a small hand in his own. Would she do this when Chris spent the night with him? It would be soon. He could feel it. In a silent agreement, they’d kept their more intimate activities at Chris’s house, for the same reason Tom had been concerned for their first kiss. But already Chris’s presence in the house was becoming more noticeable: a jacket left on the back of a chair, a spare phone charger by the coffee maker, cuff links by the front table. And Lucy had taken a liking to Chris almost immediately, touching him as often as she touched Tom, accepting his gifts and bringing him her own, a broken pinwheel from somewhere outside, a crystal marble with a red and blue swirl center.

Yes, Tom thought, she would bound up between them in bed, just as she did most nights when he slept alone. Cuddle up between them, almost solid, almost warm. And she would call Chris Papa too. He knew she would.

With them she’d never encounter angry shouts and tossed pots and pans.

No. Never.

She was a playful one, full of innocent spirit, but she was also a tiny child who wanted to be loved. And she had found it in them. He was happy for that.

 

 End.


	2. Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a tumblr prompt: We were both in the restroom when the building was surrounded and everyone is a hostage, except no one might know we're here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: bank heists, hostages, guns, broken/bloody noses, breakfast foods. 
> 
> [Chris](http://half-ancient.tumblr.com/post/124333865038/167-pictures-of-chris-hemsworth) and [Tom](http://half-ancient.tumblr.com/post/119041871613/arihcucurumbe-i-want-that-jacket-i-want-that).
> 
> Edited by [this](http://duskyhuedladysatan.tumblr.com/) sexy lady. Pure class. THANK YOU!

Tom sighed down into the sink, at the beads of water dotting his hands and wrists. Rolling his shoulders, he tried easing the knotted ache in his neck, but his muscles remained tight, possibly even bruised. The delivery of journals and blank paper at the stationary store where he worked had made his morning a living hell, heaving heavy box after heavy box onto the high shelves in the back storage room. Tracy said she would handle inventory when she came back from vacation in two days, which was fine by him. Even so, just the thought of returning to work made him wince again. The bank’s air conditioning, and the cool quiet of the marble lobby, was a blessing. The stationary store was currently as warm and humid as a Louisiana swamp, the A/C unit dying loudly and suddenly just before lunch. His boss, Emily, had put up the ‘Closed’ sign and told Tom and his other coworker to go on break. Tom took the opportunity to visit the bank about his request for a car loan, but figured a trip to the bathroom for a cold splash of water was best before he signed in and spoke with a representative.

The door opened with a gentle creak and a man stepped up to one of the urinals behind him. Straightening, Tom splashed some more water on his face, dragging his hand around the back of his neck with a groan before ripping a crooked piece of towel from the dispenser.

“You okay?”

Glancing up, Tom caught sight of sharp blue eyes staring at him in the mirror. He turned and lost his breath, fumbling the napkin he’d been about to toss in the bin. It dropped limply to the floor, but he snatched it up quickly, heat flaming over his face. The man smiled, wide with a show of straight teeth, his eyes drooping down at the corners kindly. He was blond and built-strongly, solidly, taller even than Tom. Compared to Tom’s own jeans and mandatory green T-shirt with the stationary store logo, the man wore black slacks and a light blue button-down shirt with a dark blue tie, looking lovely and lethal and strangely magnetic. Tom stopped himself from sliding a foot closer.

“Oh, um. I’m okay,” he said softly, tapping the back of his neck for stray beads of water. He dropped his eyes low when the man smiled at him again. "Sorry, I just came from work and our A/C died on us.” He gestured to the door. "I stopped by to talk about my loan request before heading home. That’s why I look like a sweaty tomato." He realized he was babbling in his nervousness.

"Yeah?" The man laughed and zipped himself up before moving to the sinks. He washed his hands with quick, even strokes, suds covering his giant mitts like a veil of lace. Tom’s eyes flitted to his nametag, which read _Chris._ Shaking out his hands into the sink, Chris reached for a paper towel. "You don’t. I promise. But who were you meeting with? Because I'm actually—."

A rapid burst of staccato pops sounded from outside the bathroom door, and Tom spun quickly.

“Was…was that—?”

Two big hands grabbed his shirt and hauled him backwards. Limbs flailing, Tom’s cry lodged in his throat as he was backed up against the wall farthest from the door.

“Gunfire,” Chris said, flattening Tom with a long arm. Gasping, Tom’s eyes widened at the screams from out in the lobby followed by a deeper chorus of echoing shouts, to get down, to stay calm and listen. No one would get hurt. No one would get shot. If everyone would just shut up and listen.

Tom turned to find the man already staring at him, eyes wide and alarmed. In that light, they looked charged by static. Tom could feel his heart pounding against the stranger’s arm.

“Jesus Christ,” Chris said, breath ragged.

When another round of warning shots echoed from outside, he grabbed Tom’s wrist and dragged him into a stall, quietly locking the door after them. Tom stumbled between the toilet and the wall, feeling squished and highly sensitized, dwarfed next to the considerable bulk of his new friend. Vaguely, he wondered how much good the thin stall door would do against guns should any of the robbers come looking, but he pushed the thought away and tried to take a deep breath.

“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked in a harsh whisper, afraid of letting his voice bounce around the room.

“No. It’s at my desk.”

“Your desk? You work here?”

“Yes.”

Tom flinched as a woman screamed outside. He ducked low, pure instinct.

“B-but, do you have, you know, those panic alarms? Like in the movies?”

“Yes. Under the counters. But if the gunmen approached too quickly and waved the tellers back, they might not have been able to hit one of them in time.”

Tom stared up at the ceiling as a bead of sweat slipped down his spine. “Oh my god, what’s going to happen? They don’t know we’re here? Do they know we’re here? Maybe we’ll be okay.” He bit his lip and jangled his foot, his immediate nervous ticks. “Should we do something?”

A door banged open down the hall, sounding much closer than the lobby. Stifled screams echoed as more people were found hiding away.

“They’re starting to search,” Tom whispered, inching his fingers into the material of Chris’s shirtsleeve, gripping it tightly. Startled blue eyes met his.

“How old are you?” It seemed a question borne of panic identical to his, and Tom’s heart hitched in relief, or terror.

“Twenty-two,” he managed, wincing at the noise outside. He could only imagine his horrified face, pale, eyes like saucers, maybe he was sweating too much. But something softened in the other’s eyes even as he stood abruptly from the wall. In his panic, Tom didn’t know how to read the two distinct gestures and he flinched back.

“Sorry about the shirt thing. Don’t hit me.” Like that time the guy at the bar had shot a balled fist straight into Tom’s cheekbone for smiling at him and maybe touching his hip. Eyes stinging, face throbbing, Tom found himself on the floor as someone screamed over him “I’m not a fuckin’ fag!” The other patrons eventually went back to drinking and dancing, awkwardly and with side glances at him. Throwing a towel over his shoulder with a weary look, the bartender scooped him off the floor and showed him out the back, passing him a moist rag stuffed with ice and a gruff apology.

“You need to learn to read people, kid,” Tom remembered hearing through the ringing in his head. But it was hard to, and sometimes his urge to touch got the better of him.

Chris stopped short, brow scrunched in confusion at Tom’s words. His lips parted to speak when the bathroom door burst open.

“Anyone home?!” It was a smug voice, one that Tom imagined was slightly psychotic and full of sneer.

Chris spun and flattened himself in front of Tom, arms spread to bracket him in. Holding his breath, Tom gripped the back of Chris’s shirt and waited with barely contained tremors as heavy footsteps crossed closer, the stalls doors kicked in one at a time, slowly making it to their corner. Chris was vibrating with tension, a bead of sweat slicking a path down his neck. Heart racing, Tom stared up at his shortly cropped hair, dark wheat through the most of it with the blondest blond peppering his temples. And thick, so much of it – Tom swallowed. The gunman was only a stall or two away and he realized he could be seconds from a bullet in his brain. So he wrapped both arms around Chris’s waist and pressed his cheek to a broad shoulder blade – _I only wanted to buy a car_ – stifling a sob when Chris covered his hands with one of his own, whispering, “It’s okay.”

A shadow passed under the door and they both inhaled quietly, shifting back another inch. A blue eye zoomed large through the crack between the wall and the door, and squinted, as if the man were smiling.

Tom squeezed Chris harder, heart jackhammering.

“Hello, little rabbits,” the gunman said before disappearing again. There was a torturous second that they didn’t know where he was, their eyes flitting when a single round was suddenly fired and the bolt to the stall door blasted open. Yanked nearly off its hinges, light and cool air flooded the tight corner where he and Chris huddled as the man pointed a very deadly looking automatic weapon right at the center of Chris’s chest.

“What’s this? A little suck and blow? Have I _interrupted_?” Wearing a mask of a distorted clown face, the man’s lips nevertheless peeked through a slit in the middle of a red plastic mouth, twisted in a sneer.

Distantly came the wailing of sirens, and the man lifted his gaze to the ceiling. A mistake.

Tom felt the minute shift in Chris’s spine, the muscles bunching, the sudden launch out of his arms. One moment he was pressed tightly to Chris’s back, and the next Chris was gone, hurtling himself forward in a hard tackle. Tom half-fell over the toilet, collapsing into the wall as he stared with wide eyes at where Chris and the man collided with the stainless steel pipes beneath the bank of sinks, grappling and grunting, the gun flashing dangerously between them.

“Chris,” he whispered, taking two quick steps out of the stall.

In a quick jab, the gun skittered across the tiles and Chris yelled for him to grab it. Tom jumped toward the weapon, only half aware of a door opening in the background. Just as he closed his fingers over the barrel, a leg swung around from the corner of his eye, a boot clipping his chin with a sickening crack. His neck twisted painfully and he fell to the side, eyes watering as pain flared through his jaw. Dizziness washed over him, but movement to his right spun him round, another gun an inch from his face. “Wait—,” he managed, but was hauled upward by a second masked man, hand twisted in the front of his shirt. Whirled to face the mirrors, he saw his own petrified expression, a long arm securing him in a hard grip, the flash of black metal matching the bite of cold at his temple. His knees almost gave out, a whimper spilling from his throat.

On the floor, tangled with the other man, Chris spotted him and froze. His tie was askew and two of his buttons mid-chest were torn, but by some miracle the other man’s clown mask had remained in place. Chris scrambled up, abandoning the fight.

“Hang on,” he rasped, breathing hard, an arm out toward Tom, his eyes pleading. “Don’t. We won’t—.”

But sensing a change in the dynamic, the gunman he’d been struggling with grabbed the gun off the floor and jumped up, slamming the butt into Chris’s nose. His head snapped back and blood spurted in a jagged arc over the mirror, more gushing down his face. Chris staggered backwards with a groan, colliding with the wall as blood began to drip through his fingers, eyes squeezed shut.

Heart pounding, Tom gasped his name, but was held in place by the second gunman, the pinch of metal to his head a reminder to stay put.

“Cheap shot,” Chris spit out, and the man lifted his gun for another blow when Tom cried out, “No!” All eyes turned to him, and shrank back. “We’ll listen. Just stop. Just stop, please.” The blood staining Chris’s shirt looked black.

“There’s always one that tries to be a hero,” the man at his back said softly, contemptuously, and Tom wondered if they’d robbed other banks at other times. He suddenly felt very naïve at the idea that this might not be the robbers’ first foray into bank heists.

“Let’s go. Cops are on their way. Drag them out with the others. We’ll head out the back.”

“You get everything?”

“Just what was in the drawers out front and the locked boxes in the back room. Probably just north of fifty.”

“That’s not enough, man.”

“Just fucking go. Jesus Christ.”

Tom was pushed toward Chris, who had managed to finally stand, leaving a bloody handprint smeared on the shiny white sink, but he went willingly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him close as Chris wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. They were herded into the bright hallway and through the lobby, where a dozen people lay face down on the floor. A security guard by the entrance was flat on his back, a small pool of blood by his head.

“Oh my god,” Tom whispered, feeling Chris tense against him as he too caught sight of the prone security guard. He couldn’t tell if the man was breathing or not. They were shoved to the floor, sprawling on hands and knees, but Tom kept a tight grip on Chris’s elbow, afraid to be separated from him. With the gunmen’s attention back to the room at large, he moved quickly and pulled Chris closer to the center console that held deposit and withdrawal slips. He tugged them under the counter, crawling backwards like a crab with Chris sliding next to him.

He collapsed against Tom’s chest in that cramped space, slumped between his legs with his ruined tie and torn shirt. Blood poured sluggishly down his face, but it looked to be slowing. His eyes were already bruised and swelling slightly. Squeezed into yet another corner together, Tom cradled Chris to him, using the soft fabric of his tie to help stanch the blood.

Desperate for a distraction, he gripped Chris’s jaw gently, his own throbbing from the kick back in the bathroom. “Let me see.” He spoke quietly, wincing as the men – four in total – shouted and made their way to the rear of the building, dragging a woman with them who held a keycard. She flashed it before an electronic reader and the door buzzed open. The men disappeared into the alley, discarding the woman, who dropped to her knees with wracking sobs.

From where everyone lay prone and frightened on the floor came piercing silence, interrupted only by sniffles and the rustle of clothing, and farther off the whine of police sirens.

“You’re alright,” Tom whispered, eyes flashing every which way as he held Chris’s head against his shoulder, dabbing at his nose. “They’re gone. It’s okay.”

Chris let himself be coddled, staring up at him with slow blinks, the stains on his face giving him a wild, nearly dangerous edge, and Tom found himself gripping him harder for it.

“I’m Chris,” he finally said and Tom stared down with so startled an expression, that Chris’s bruised face split into a wide grin, teeth intact and straight, but bloodied.

“I’m Tom,” he said, finding his voice, ducking his head with a laugh. Chris stared at his blushing cheeks, and wanted that feeling to stay forever with him.

“You saved me.”

“Oh, no. No way. I cowered behind you like a puppy.”

“You saved me,” Chris said quieter and Tom blinked, awareness blooming inside him like the spread of ink. All around them people were slowly rising to their knees, shuffling to the person closest, hushed words of comfort and concern building as the threat of danger began to lift from the room.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Tom heard himself ask, cringing inwardly, but Chris smiled and shook his head.

“Fuck no. I’m taking like a month off. Why? Are we doing something?”

Tires screeched loudly outside, a deep bullhorn voice sounding with warnings to remain calm. But already people around them began to keen with growing hysteria, the promise of safety making the tears flow a little stronger.

“We can, yes. If you’d like.”

“Would you like?” Chris lifted a hand and gripped Tom’s forearm.

Tom smiled, fingers shifting under the nape of Chris’s neck, liking the feel of his thick hair. “I would like that, yeah.”

Tactical officers in full assault gear flooded through the lobby doors a moment later, guns raised and boots squeaking as they spread around the room. Once the area was secure, a stream of police officers, detectives, and other official looking people descended on the scene over the course of the next hour, paramedics treating those few individuals who’d been hurt by the robbers. The worst injuries had been inflicted on Chris and the security guard, who was alive and well with only a considerable bump on the back of his head. As Chris’s nose was attended to, Tom hovered at the edge of everything, refusing to have his jaw looked at, confident all he needed was ice and a couple of Ibuprofen. He’d been questioned by the police, providing details on what he remembered about the gunmen, but could give no definitive descriptions of facial features because of the clown masks. Knee jangling with burned adrenaline and sudden fatigue, Tom shifted from foot to foot, arms crossed over his chest, surprised to find so much of Chris’s blood on him.

Wearing two glaringly bright bandages on his nose, Chris found him by the building entrance. They stood a foot from each other, shyness bouncing their gazes over the sky and down to the concrete, at each other’s chests and waists before rising to already find the other staring.

“Can I drive you home?” Chris eventually asked, clinging to the question like a lifeline, eyebrows high and earnest.

Tom’s head snapped up, face softening. “Yes. Thanks. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all. Let me get my keys. I’ll be a minute.”

Once back outside, they started down the sidewalk and to the lot at the north end of the bank, where Chris and the other employees parked their vehicles. Arms bumping, feet dragging, they walked slowly and a bit aimlessly, the sun beating down on their heads. Tom was surprised to hear Chris start a low chuckle, head tossed back to laugh round and full up at the sky.

“Man. We better get married, because this will make a great how-did-you-meet story.”

Heart flipping, Tom bubbled with laughter too, eyes crinkling as they meandered through the parking lot, the stress of the day lifting with every step taken. He reached for Chris’s hand and clasped their palms together, stomach rising to his throat when Chris laced their fingers and squeezed.

“Wanna go eat?”

Tom realized he’d never had lunch after leaving work early, only now he wanted something a little less conventional, something much sweeter. “Yes. I’m starved. Can we get pancakes?”

Unlocking his door, Chris held it open for him. “Babe. You’re a man after my own heart.”

And squinting up at him through the bright shafts of sunlight, Tom smiled.

News crews were beginning to arrive at the scene just as Chris pulled out of the lot and toward the nearest diner. Tom, with his window rolled down and hand clasped in Chris’s – a warm curlicue of comfort and solidarity and safety settling in his blood– leaned his head back and drifted. For what it was worth, he could always go to the bank about his loan another day. Because as he slipped into the cracked vinyl booth minutes later – immensely pleased when Chris sank down right next to him rather than across – he felt the great weight of what had almost happened, how close it all was to ending. It awakened in him like a pinging alarm all the many things he wanted to do, the great many things he wanted to feel.

The waitress, alarmed at their battered appearance, cooed at them like a mother hen before taking their orders. They didn’t have the heart to tell her the whole story, just assured her that they were fine. Battered and exhausted, they cut into their pancakes with knees pressed close together, Tom’s mind aflutter from buzzing endorphins. Sharing shy glances and syrupy grins, they filled their bellies with comfort food and butterflies, gravitating to each other like magnets. And just as Tom was encouraging himself to go for it – that Chris wouldn’t hit him, wouldn’t reject him like the others – Chris took the plunge for him and dipped his head close. Their sticky mouths crashed together gently, lips soft and warm and _yielding_ \- and Tom moaned. A sugared kiss. The only thing missing.

Forks lax in their fingers still coated with dry blood, food forgotten for just that lovely moment, they pulled back with a soft smack, eyes round and filled with excitement. Grinning and tingling for more, Tom was leaning in again when the door to the diner slammed open.

“Everyone freeze! Money out! Now!”

A man with a black mask on, holes cut out raggedly for his eyes, stood at the entrance of the diner, a gun in one hand. It looked a bit plasticky and weightless, but it suddenly didn’t matter.

Tom’s eyes flittered down, and Chris sighed out with a wince at his nose. As a waitress scrambled to open the cash register, the other diners frantically pulled out whatever cash they had. Resignedly, he and Chris flopped their wallets on the table. Tom took his milkshake and started slurping at the dregs as Chris put his arm up behind him on the seat. Tom nestled in against him, the hot burn of adrenaline liquefying his bones, eyelids heavy.

“Yeah,” he murmured, sucking at his milkshake. “We’re definitely getting married after this.” Chris chuckled up at the ceiling and gave his shoulder a squeeze as the robber ran through the restaurant snatching up wallets into a burlap bag with a picture of two puppies steam pressed into the weave.

“We should go to the movies tonight,” Chris said, hardly sparing the man a glance. He looked down at Tom and pulled a face as both their wallets were stolen away. “I’ll need to stop at the bank first, though.”

“Oh my god,” Tom moaned, covering his eyes and curling into Chris, both shaking from the force of their laughter.

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta, [duskyhuedladysatan](http://duskyhuedladysatan.tumblr.com/) who was like oooooh the diner should be held up at the end, too. And I was like I'M ON IT. Our text messages make my life. xx


	3. Comet Tails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: seated next to each other on a roller coaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: fear of roller coasters, descriptions of roller coaster rides, hall of mirrors, carnivals, amusement parks, lots of cliches, sugar treats, sweet and sticky cuddles.

The place wasn't terribly off putting. Certainly not as daunting as the last time he’d been here. Its terrors were different in nature, perhaps, with its smells of burnt sugar and caramel corn, the air shimmering with the oils of it, crackling as he moved past the ticket booth and into the main square. Children screamed and paraded in droves, heads flashing by at hip level as parents lagged after them. It was chaotic and blindly colorful, a racket of activity that would have driven away any other sane person.

Tom took refuge in the shade of a giant grinning clown cutout, stuffing his tickets into his back pocket and muttering to himself to get on with it. The amusement park certainly had the same sticky feel of revulsion he'd remembered from when he was a child. But he was grown at twenty-six and considered it a personal goal of his to finally face something that had frightened him since his infancy.

Trailing after a group of high-schoolers through the aisles abuzz with flashing lights, whirling contraptions and toys that gathered big crowds along the vender booths. Water tanks and basketball contests, giant stuffed animals and ringing bells herded him to another section of the park that held what he was looking for.

Stacked one after the other like towers of horror were the roller coasters.

They stood tall and intimidating, displaying veins of twisting tracks where carriages sped over again and again, their passengers shrieking with arms lifted, jostled about as they rose and fell, sometimes – he shrank back in disbelief – _upside down_. Swallowing around his dry tongue, Tom discreetly wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, steeling his jaw and taking the first step.

It had started after his only ride on the Zipper, crown jewel of his town's local traveling carnival. He'd been seven when his older cousin had pulled him to the ever-growing line of the giant white and red hulk of metal. Living up to its name, the ride was a tall post with a rotating spinner belt of half a dozen cages on either side. Once going, the cages would rotate around the center post and spin at the same time, intersecting at a rapid speed like the connecting teeth of a zipper. And Tom, green around the mouth and gawking from the panic, had hoped he would be turned away for being too young but was dismayed when he passed the height requirement, long-boned and knobby-kneed on his father's side. Trying to dislodge his arm from his cousin’s excited iron grip and make a run back to his mom at the snack bar, he’d never stood a chance and soon found himself strapped in one of the cages and encouraged to hold on. The people in the cage above started to a slow swing, screaming and laughing, setting his stomach catapulting to his throat.

It was all a spinning world after that, no up from down, flattened to the ribbed metal as his cousin guffawed like nothing while he shrieked and possibly passed out.

He never again tried another carnival or amusement park, refusing to get on rides that twirled and spun and lobbed and bounced. But it was after a solemn discussion with his mother about his hesitation to take risks that he realized he ought to do something about it. Or at least try to. He’d already accomplished so much – graduated from university and owned his car and rented his own flat and felt for the most part comfortably settled. Only, his twenties were slowly drawing to a close and he really wanted to be considered a man who didn’t hide from himself. Maybe bungee jumping he wondered one morning over tea, or parasailing. But nothing he thought of seemed to satisfy his innate sense of solving a problem at its source. He knew what he had to do, and at that point he would rather jump in a dryer cycle and spun wildly.

“You having a go?” the attendant said from behind the metal barrier of one of the roller coasters. It wasn’t the biggest one, nor the twistiest, but it met his criteria in the short span of time it took him to squint up at it. “This one’s about full. I can fit you in up front or you can wait to catch the next one.”

Tom took the lack of a line as a sign and before he lost his nerve nodded quickly. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of tickets.

“One, please.”

“Ooookay. Just need three of these,” the man said, scratching his raspy chin and handing him the rest of his tickets. “Follow me.”

Tom was led up a ramp and to the main platform, where a long row of seats awaited, filled with chatting people all strapped in behind cushioned safety harnesses. No one seemed panicked or afraid. Only giddy smiles and squeezed eyes. All having fun. Tom nodded to himself and carefully stepped into the seat second to the front. A man was already sitting beside him but Tom strained to focus on what the attendant was saying, his words coming at him as if from under water. Harness down, belt secured, he could only nod as the man whisked away, struggling to swallow the flood of saliva in his mouth.

“First time?” said a quietly deep voice, and he startled, jolting away. The yellow harness locked him face forward and restricted his vision to both sides. Still, his eyes zipped to the right, trying to see the man. A blond head, giant hands relaxed opposite his own, which were clenched and white-knuckled.

“Oh. Consensually. Yes.” He gulped, fidgeting, his knees trembling. But he must have said something very funny because the man threw his head back and boomed a great laugh.

“Weren’t quite ready for your first, yeah?”

“Um. What are we talking about…exactly?”

“Name’s Chris,” the man said, sticking a giant paw across their seats and into Tom’s face.

“Tom,” he replied, his hand engulfed in the other’s, firm and confident. He shrank back and gave a tiny whimper when the cars lurched.

“I’m here with a few buddies of mine, but I lost them after taking a leak. Saw there was no line and hopped on. You okay, man?”

“Yes,” Tom gasped, arching his neck because his lungs began to burn for air. “I hopped on too. Trying to fulfill a, uh, goal of mine.”

“Ride a coaster?”

“And not be afraid. Yes.”

“But a little fear is good. A little fear is fun. That’s what places like these bank on. And they’re totally safe. Listen, the best thing to do is take a deep breath just before the plunge. You’re not going to fall out—.”

“Oh, god,” Tom moaned, nails biting into the plastic sleeve of the harness.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” came a man’s voice on the loudspeaker. Tom cursed and yanked at his harness, his vision tunneling to a pinpoint of black. “Hang tight and enjoy the ride. We know you’ll come back for more.”

“Not likely,” Tom moaned, and Chris chuckled.

A loud horn blew and Tom started a mantra of _no, no, no, no_.

“This one’s short. We go up and then down and there’s some twists – don’t think on it. Just move as it moves, okay?”

The car gave another solid lurch before finally rolling forward on the tracks, slow and steady. Ahead was the first incline. They started the ascent, kicked back in their seats as gravity settled heavy, the blue sky looking placid and puffy with clouds. Tom felt his stomach slick against his spine.

“You want to hold hands? You can hold my hand, if you need to?”

Tom’s eyes snapped to the right again. “Really?”

“Yes! You’re cute. I’ll hold your hand.”

Struggling against the pull of the severe angle, Tom lifted his head and finally got his first true glimpse of the man. A wide grin and sharp baby blues, tanned skin and a sprinkle of stubble, teeth white and straight.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Alright,” Chris said, his smile curving the edge of the word. Their knuckles bumped as they reached for each other, but then Chris took his hand and pressed their palms together, their fingers lacing instinctively. Chris’s was calloused and dry, a good hand to hold when one was flirting with panic.

“Almost there,” Chris whispered and Tom sagged into his seat, hoping to keep the inevitable from happening. There were whoops and cheers in the seats behind them, completely horizontal to the sky, the passengers elated and happily nervous. The nose of the car was a moment from the top of the arch, and the women in front put their hands in the air, long nails sparkling glittery gold and pink.

“This was a mistake,” he heard himself say, clinging to Chris’s hand, so warm.

“It’s not,” Chris said, his voice closer as if turned to the side, speaking to him. “This is good, cathartic fun. One of the best rushes out there. You just have to let it take you. Surrender to it.”

“Are you a therapist or something?”

“I am! Can you tell?”

“Really?” Tom squawked, but then bit back a cry as the car tottered for a short moment at the very top.

Tom took in the first clear view of the city, so wide and beautiful, treetops and skyscrapers, the spread of the sky everywhere. Far enough away, a dot on the canvas, was his apartment building. “Hold tight to me!” Chris yelled as they fell into the inevitable nosedive, the cityscape blurring to something indefinable and lovely and alien. Tom’s stomach and heart somersaulted to the roof of his mouth in that slow motion way of things that human beings should never, ever feel. The women’s hair floated before them, weightless for a moment, auburn curls of matching length. Maybe they were sisters.

It was a quick descent, his scream soundless as they bottomed out in one smooth motion, the track screeching as he was jostled and shaken, the bones of his spine and neck cracking, careening around corners and through loops. He finally found his voice, giving short, static yells that were lost in the whirling colors of their tunnel of terror. Chris was laughing and howling happily, his big hand never wavering around Tom’s, their fists knocking between them. He closed his eyes around the second loop, his stomach flipping once more, face scrunched and turned into the padded cushion of his harness. But as the ride continued, so much of his fear and anxiety melted into a gnarled mess of nerves that weren’t nearly as bad as before the ride, the anticipation of it, and the horror of that first ascent, whittling down his calm to a nub. But now that the ride was halfway over, he found himself smiling and bursting out with a short, delighted cackle, tears bursting in his vision and streaming from the corners of his eyes.

Still, as the car swooped through the last curve and came to a startling stop, he blinked and found himself back where he started, at the main platform, a line of people waiting their turn for a ride. The yellow harnesses released on some automatic timer, and he took in his first deep breath since entering the park. His hand, still clenched around Chris’s, was trembling.

Chris lifted his harness and turned in his seat, a big man with eyes so kind.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

Unable to answer, Tom stared up at him, eyes dewy. But then he felt them start to roll back, dizziness spiraling through his brain. Chris jumped forward.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa. Hang on. You’re okay. It’s okay,” he said soothingly as he released Tom’s hand and started unstrapping him from the harness.

“Is everything okay here?” someone said from the platform above them, but Chris waved them off.

“All good. We’re all good. Aren’t we, Tom? Yeah, you’re good. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Still breathing, Tom made a short squeaking noise when Chris finally pulled the harness up and took him by the arms. Stepping out was interesting, legs made of jelly and just as stable, but Chris kept an arm around his waist and Tom was grateful for the gesture, positive he would have face planted without the support. The crowd of people waiting stared at them as they stumbled down the ramp and out into the park.

“Still with me?” Chris asked, and Tom nodded, numbly. Finding a free bench, Chris lowered him to the seat and then sat beside him. “You are amazing,” he chuckled, brushing a hair from Tom’s forehead.

“We’re…we’re off the ride?”

Laughing again, Chris leaned back and assured him that yes, they were definitely off the ride now. Heart still pounding, Tom sighed and fell back against the bench too, their sides pressed snugly. Chris threw an arm around his shoulders and they sat together as people milled about before them, a thrumming beat of a headache starting up behind Tom’s right eye.

“That was intense,” he finally whispered.

“I was happy to witness.”

“But thank you, Chris. You really helped me out back there.”

Chris shrugged, the hard weight of his bicep flexing on the nape of Tom’s neck. “You were in distress. I don’t like when people are in distress. Especially if one is so pretty.”

Tom smirked and shifted his gaze sideways. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Very,” Chris whispered, lifting a long finger to curve around the shell of Tom’s ear. A chill sprouted along his skin, just as exhilarating as the one he’d felt on the coaster.

“And you liked saving me?” he said just as softly, letting his neck tilt down just slightly, encouraging the touch. Chris took the hint and placed his entire hand on the side of Tom’s neck, his fingers sliding into his hair and staying put.

“Yeah,” Chris breathed, and Tom met his gaze with a slow smile, cheeks flooding with heat.

They didn’t kiss that moment, staring and breathing just enough for now. Taking his fill of Tom’s face, Chris finally jumped up and took his hand, pulling him through the crowds and toward the center pavilion. Giggling, Tom kept up easily, his legs as long as Chris’s, his excitement as strong.

First, they stopped at the snack bar and Chris bought them vanilla shakes and candied apples, the first of several sweet treats that evening, enjoying cotton candy and fried bread with white powered sugar and bright red strawberries bursting with juice later on between game contests. Fingers always laced, they went from booth to booth, Tom winning a round of darts for a basket of fake jewelry. They donned colorful plastic rings and bracelets and necklaces, Chris wrapping one in Tom’s curls, a circlet of pearls and diamonds.

“A crown for princess,” he whispered in Tom’s ear, and Tom blushed to the root of his hair. Standing on tiptoe, he planted a loud kiss on Chris’s cheek and then spun away, running through the crowd with squeals of laughter. Glittering and sparkling, the sun set them afire as Chris gave chase, his thunder laugh spurring Tom on, glancing behind his shoulder and running faster. He pushed into a creaking door and set off into the darkness, Chris on his heels. It was the Hall of Mirrors, and that’s where he finally caught him, swinging him around by an elbow and crushing him into a corner, their kiss reflected back a thousand times over.

Sticky-lipped and moaning, they fumbled and pulled, mouths open to devour, tongues brushing like sparks. Chris felt good against him, taller and heavier, wider in the shoulders, caging him in, crushing him.

“Yes,” Tom gasped, breathless as Chris mouthed at his neck, one long arm around the small of his back to drag Tom as close as possible.

The effects of the place were tacky and flip, shudders through the floorboards and flashing lights, gusts of air and filtered fog to further disorient. Taking his hand, Chris gave him one last smooch and then they were tripping around a maze of corners, false walls and dead ends, their reflections swelling and shrinking as they ran through.

Both laughing and wheezing, they finally fell out of the exit and over to the side wall, collapsed and winded.

“I need a beer,” Chris said.

“God, yes,” Tom panted. Chris fixed his crown and bent to give him a softer, sweeter kiss, one that made Tom’s skin tighten and tingle. Their gaudy rings shined.

“Princess thanks you,” he said, and Chris’s smile split his face, faint crow’s feet fanning his eyes.

His lost friends forgotten, Chris strolled through the park with Tom, sipping their beers and stealing kisses. He found a feat of strength contest and readily accepted the heavy hammer passed to him. It was made of dense wood, its long handle slimmed and smooth from many determined grips. Standing to the side with his crown and sticky neck, Tom cheered Chris on, clapping as he took a few practice swings, brow serious and determined. Tom could imagine him as a teenager, big and burly, a strong athlete, a force on any field.

Standing before the meter, Chris lifted the hammer high and brought it down with a low grunt, the red metal ball rising to the summit and ringing a loud bell. The crowd cheered and Chris nodded like it was no big deal, but he melted into Tom’s embrace, whispering _babe_ and squeezing him hard.

Tom chose a giant, soft brown bear with a red bow tie, both tucked under Chris’s long arm as the evening turned to night, fairy lights twinkling on all around them.

“Dude!” they heard and turned around. Three guys came up to them and Chris lifted his brows in recognition.

“Guys! Having a good time?”

It seemed as if his friends had been riding coaster after coaster, and looked a bit unsteady on their feet for it. All had the glazed look of too much fun had, their smiles wispy and kind. All were colleagues of Chris, working at the hospital in Psychiatrics. Chris introduced Tom to each of them, but their names became jumbled, a bit tipsy himself. They were on their way out, and Chris agreed to meet up with them again soon. They patted Tom on the back as if they were all old friends and invited him to a barbecue one of them was throwing the following Saturday.

“What lovely friends,” he murmured as they made one last loop through the booths and toward the exit.

“They’re good buddies of mine. We try to do fun things like this at least once a month. Sometimes work is heavy on us,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry, darling. You must be so good at your job, though. You read me like a book.”

Chris chuckled and kissed his temple. But then he paused and frowned out at the parking lot. Tom stilled. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, but…” Chris shook his head and bent at the waist, laughing so hard his face turned red. Confused, Tom patted his back.

“What is it?”

“My friends…oh man. They were my ride.”

Wrapping his hands around Chris’s neck, Tom drew him back up and leaned into him, high school slow dance, lifted ankle.

“Well then. You’ll just come home with me, then?”

“So gladly, babe.”

They kissed as the shadow of a screaming roller coaster sped by overhead, its lights like lasers, comet tails disappearing like vapor. They broke apart and watched as it disappeared through a loop, and then met each other’s eyes at the same time.

“Wanna go again?”

Tom grinned up at him. “Okay!”

 

After:

Collapsed and coiled in the blankets of Tom’s bed, Chris lifted his head, bleary-eyed and covered with sugar powder and hickeys. Sunlight and twittering birds hinted at noon, maybe; costume jewelry littered the floor, including a makeshift crown of diamonds and pearls. On a chair facing the window, looking out with butter-warm glass eyes, was a plush brown bear, red bow tie crooked under its fat chin.

Chris blinked and slumped back down into the pillows.

In his arms, face tucked into crook of his armpit was what he thought had been a dream. Still beautiful, still made of smooth silver and candy lashes, was Tom, pale and sticky, exhausted after their evening at the amusement park and night of swollen kisses and tickled bites. But today, feeling himself stir and rise, he wanted to absorb everything of Tom’s, his skin, his breaths, his cries and moans, his smiles and giggled laughter, pink-cheeked and happy.

Yes, he thought, nuzzling Tom’s neck as he slowly woke and murmured his name, slim hands curling against his spine.

_Closer, please._

Yes, exactly that.

 

End.


	4. Empress Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris finally summons the courage to visit the gay dance club downtown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the tumblr prompt: I am very interested in you but you are surrounded by hyper protective and slightly scary Drag Queens with very high heels.
> 
> Started this two weeks ago. Am very horny. This is product. 
> 
> Thank you to duskyhuedladysatan for editing and being amaaazing, and thank you to YOU, for reading <3

There was nothing like the month of February and the celebration of love that brought out droves of couples to places Chris had been trying for weeks to gain the courage to enter. He worked such long hours, falling into bed most nights still half-dressed, exhausted and nearly morose. Flyers were beginning to spring up everywhere, stapled to street posts or taped to bus stop Plexiglas windows, pink papers with purple and white hearts, all announcing Valentine’s Day specials at bars and clubs across town. Most joints would be packed all month, but every night he dragged himself home, empty and alone, to his small meals and weight lifting machines, beginning to feel an itch to join the world.

He wasn’t a big crowd person, but the flyer he’d found stuck under his windshield wiper was burning a crease in his back pocket, a vibrant temptation. Pulling it out, he gazed at the cursive print and the elegant, thin outline of two men standing closely, heads bent to whisper. He’d heard of the place, a gay club that he’d passed more than once on his way home from work, taking odd streets to come across it. During the day it was a typical bar, quiet and dark inside, smoked windows like mirrors that reflected his shuttered, pinched face, slightly panicked to catch his own gaze. But at night it transformed into a thumping house of strobe lights and deep bass beats, a line down the sidewalk of beautiful young men, free. He’d wanted to go in more than once, had even parked his car one time, but standing at the corner in his jeans and dark blue jacket, the cold winter wind cutting over his face, strands of hair spilling in his eyes, he just couldn’t do it.

It was one thing meeting a man at the grocery store or in line at the bank, but there was always the risk that he wasn’t receptive to the signals Chris might be sending. At the gay club, he knew nearly everyone would be, and the thought scared him a bit. Resolved to shirk his hesitations, Chris headed straight to the club after work on Saturday, knowing that if he went home to shower he would lose his nerve and spend the rest of the night alone palming himself to porn.

Striding down the street, he hitched his collar up and dug his hands into his slacks, the wind cold and stinging. Leaving his jacket in the car, not wanting to deal with it once in the club, he’d rolled up his sleeves and slung up his hair into a hasty bun, feeling inept and rumpled.

Single as he was, showing up alone could go two ways. Hit on repeatedly or protective zone-outs from men staking claim on other men. Arms wrapped tightly around each other, lips at ears and napes of necks and lightly dusted jawbones, Chris would easily get the hint and move on. Admittedly, he got lots of attention, on the street or grabbing his mail, meeting with clients, watering the four potted plants he kept outside the window at his condo. He figured it was because he was hard to miss at nearly six and a half feet. But most side winks and husky greetings were hushed immediately by significant others, dragged away, accusing glares cut over retreating shoulders, leaving him staring mutely at such hasty departures. As if Chris had been the one doing the flirting.

Chris didn’t know how to flirt, he only knew what he felt.

Turning the corner, he spied the club entrance and took a deep breath. The line wasn’t nearly as long as he’d seen it before, but it was still early, still plenty of time for people to freshen up, have a nice dinner, head downtown. After paying and receiving a pat-down, he continued through into the sweet-smelling murk. It was packed and smoky and dark, music thumping through his sternum as he immediately angled his way to the bar, attracting long stares and a subtle finger-glide along his lower back. He tensed but didn’t turn around, heat flooding his face. He kept moving.

The bass pounded and rattled the glasses on the smooth wooden counter, lights cutting streaks over his vision. He had to lean in past a couple sipping on something pink and fruity to shout his order to the bartender. Waiting, he pulled out his wallet and made to pass the bills to the man but he was waved off – _for you, on the house_. Shocked into silence, Chris nodded his thanks and took a deep swallow, turning to face the main room of the club, narrowing his eyes, skimming. Bodies swaying, arms waving, mouths meeting, it was a kind of eroticism that even porn couldn’t simulate, the closeness to a person, the heat of them, the brush of forearms and slick of sweaty skin. For Chris, there was nothing like a little thrust in the dark and the slide of flesh, a soft moan in his ear to get the blood curling hotly in his veins. He hadn’t been with someone in a long while. It was making him itch to miss it so late at night.

Grimacing around the burn of liquor, he smiled at a few others loitering around, partner-less like him. Strolling the edge of it all, he discovered another smaller room angled off to the side, a deeper recess of black air and strobing lights, faces and long limbs flashing like strikes of lightning. He made his way closer and peered through the entranceway, curious to what he would find there.

There was a different song, a more staccato beat playing in this room, sofas and chairs arranged around a center dance floor. He wasn’t much of a dancer, nothing fancy anyway, but he was never opposed to taking another man by the hips and shifting from foot to foot, all the more reason to absorb some of that touch he’d been missing. But he’d been braver at nineteen, less so now at nearly thirty.

It wasn’t until he was taking another long swallow of amber and turning back to the main room, about to give in to the urge to run home, that he saw him.

Or them, really.

Sitting in a huddle of seven or eight tall and well-muscled drag queens wearing tight leather and glitter-stitched corsets, was easily the prettiest man Chris had ever seen. He was less flamboyantly dressed than his companions. He didn’t have long sparkly acrylic nails or false lashes beaded with tiny diamonds; he didn’t wear a great big wig or have on razor sharp six-inch heels. But he was so beautiful and lithe, Chris almost choked up the liquor burning a path halfway down his throat. Leanly muscled, young and rosy, the man was calm and sitting with one knee over the other, long, thin hands placed almost demurely at his thighs, his pink cowboy boots bobbing lazily with the music. So adoring of him were the queens, so eager in their affection, petting his fluffy blond curls and kissing his shoulder. The man sat in their midst as a monarch would at court, quietly glowing in praise and favors. Even from where Chris stood, he could see the man’s long legs were bound in fishnet stockings that ran high into the secrets between his thighs, eyes shining with mascara and glittery shadow, just barely of anything, a lovely dusting. A deep fuchsia corset, rather severe against his lanky frame, kept his waist tapered sharply, the heart-shaped bust of it snug over a thin but well-defined chest furred ever so lightly with a handful of light-brown hairs, pushed together for the tiniest bit of cleavage. Just a twinkling peek at his hips revealed a flash of bright gold. Was that a skirt or—?

But it was the choker around that pale, swan neck that made Chris break into a hot sweat. A thin strap of black leather was clasped tightly, snug enough to dig just the tiniest bit when the man turned and spoke to his companions. Catching the zipping lights, some silver charm dangled just above the enticing bump of his throat, and by the tell-tale roundness of it Chris thought it might be a silver heart. He could spy a locked clasp behind the nape of his neck, and he wondered vaguely where the key to it was.

Blinking, soaking him in, Chris searched for more details he might be able to recall later on, but the music was a tangible haze over the crowd, the lights and smoke shifting and hiding the beautiful man and his friends from view. Talking amongst themselves, the queens were large and formidable, cocooning the man in their center, a flower protected. And by the looks others in the club were throwing their way, Chris wasn’t the only one interested. With a wary eye he witnessed someone approach from the side, two drinks in hand, smiling at the group of bejeweled lovelies. He was a foot away when every set of glittered eyes flashed at him and he visibly faltered, mouth opening and stammering something Chris couldn’t hear. He gestured to the lanky boy in the center and held out the spare drink to him, the hope on his face almost too painful to witness. Chris nearly felt the communal wince given by all those watching.

The closest queen snatched the drink up in one long-clawed hand and motioned for the guy to scram. He did, quickly, retreating into the shadows, an example for the rest. With a bawdy eye roll, new drink in hand, the closest queen, with glowing cocoa skin and a magenta wig, turned back to her friends, laughter rolling through them as she raised her new drink for a toast. The boy in the center, smiled and glanced down, amused but almost hesitant in their taunting of his potential suitor.

Steeling himself, Chris swallowed back the last of his drink and left the glass on a table. He knew he was about to get rejected, but to talk to the boy in the center of all that sequined sparkle, with his prim smile and coquettish eyes, it would be worth the sting. He’d come here for a reason, why not him?

“Don’t do it, man,” came a voice beside him, and Chris glanced over at a guy smaller than him, smiling over the rim of a shot glass, eyes on the butterflies in the corner.

Chris decided for aloof. “Do what.”

“It’s been on your face since popping in here. That one in the middle? Never seen him before. But the rest, yes. They’re usually in here Thursday nights after their shows at The Loft. Stage performers. Attracting the lights and flare. They’re quite a bunch, aren’t they?”

Chris shrugged, his gaze back on the boy in the center. He frowned. Never seen him before? Why tonight?

“He’s a beauty, alright,” the stranger continued. “Everyone here’s had him in their sights. But the queens won’t let anyone close. That nightmare,” he said, pointing to the man who’d just been rejected, standing at the bar wiping his brow, “that’s happened at least eight times. Either people are determined, or don’t learn. So. Which are you?”

Ask anyone at work, Chris thought with a rush of pride – and a twinge of excitement at the risk – and they would tell it true.

“Determined,” he whispered, convincing himself. He headed to the bar for another shot.

**

He watched them most of the night. They were celebrating something, a cake and balloons and lots of air kisses and more than a few bottles of champagne. Seemed the golden-haired boy was turning a year older, cheeks flushed pink as he smiled and exclaimed at his gifts, boxes of costume jewelry and lingerie and books and movie collections, and even a rather large pink dildo that reduced the boy into a fit of giggles, face hidden in crumpled wrapping paper. Chris smiled and shuffled on his feet, as did every other person in the club gathered in the shadows around the circle of light cast on the queens and their birthday boy. They were in a bubble all their own, talking to each other and toasting to good health, laughing and embracing, an enticing spectacle.

It was now or never, Chris thought, blood warmed with desire and bourbon. He pushed past the loitering stragglers just beyond the sofas and stepped into the circle of light. Everyone’s attention on him was like the sudden pricking of dozens of needles, the nape of his neck tightening with apprehension, but he let his interest pull his lips into a slow, unthreatening smile, ignoring the sharp gazes of the queens and focusing on the young man in the center.

“Well,” the one with the magenta wig said, side-eyeing Chris over her shoulder. “He comes empty-handed.”

“Oh, they never do!” another said from the back, voice elevated for heightened feminism.

Raucous laughter all around, and Chris felt his cheeks burn. The young man in the middle leaned forward on his fish-netted knee, fist tucked under his chin, small smile on Chris.

“Hello,” Chris said, relieved his voice didn’t waver. “I will bring each of you your drink of choice.”

Eyebrows arched in every direction. “If?”

Swallowing, he inclined his head forward. “If he tells me his name.” He returned the boy’s smile, a twinge of pleasure blooming in his chest when he kept his gaze and bit his lip, just slightly.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” another queen said, this one with bright green eyeshadow and diamond-lined maroon lips. “So you want to buy us off him?”

A burst of laughter escaped him. “No! I would never disrespect you so.”

“How about we tell you all our names, and you figure out his?”

Glide of sweat down his spine. A test. “Fair enough.”

One by one, they piped up with their names, beautifully spoken in their deep voices, that perfect lisp and lilt Chris was beginning to adore.

Gwendolyn, Jacqueline, Sister Ray, Clarisse, Dame Jasmine, Sue Sue Marie, Paulette, Anabelle Lee.

Chris startled. “Are you related?”

The queen in the perfectly bobbed platinum wig grinned. “Distantly.”

He couldn’t match every single face to the names spoken, but it was hard to tear his gaze from the golden-haired boy, smiling his small smile, urging him with discreet beguile to choose his name.

But finally, from a shorter queen lounging on the sofa arm, the final name. “Empress Maud.”

Chris speculated, casting his gaze from one face to the next, and they all waited, the entire room thrumming with the deep bass of the music, everyone expectant of his answer. He slid his foot forward, and the queens visibly tensed, backs straightening, long fingers clenching around glasses filled with swirly pastel drinks, raising their chins as they followed his movements.

“You,” Chris said, moving slowly, extending his hand to the young man, “are Empress Maud.”

Hand open in mid-air, he waited, as did everyone. The boy slid his gaze to the queen at his right, and she grinned, lifting a giant hand to pet at his hair. Shifting his eyes – blue like island water – back to him, the boy reached and slid his palm into Chris’s, shaking it firmly.

He spoke for the first time. “And how did you know?”

Relieved and slightly bashful, Chris ducked his head, life and light pulsing through him at being the recipient of the boy’s sole focus. “Because of how they adore you. They are clearly loyal and devoted subjects of their empress.”

To his great amusement, the queens erupted in cheers and applause, a few rising and guiding him to sit amongst them. The air was laced with floral perfume, and he inhaled deeply, intoxicated with it. He sank down beside the boy, hands still clasped, but he let go with a mumbled apology. The boy grinned at him, the silver heart at his throat twinkling. Out beyond the glare of the spotlights on them, he couldn’t see the rest of the bystanders, forever ignored, probably grumbling at Chris’s unexpected conquest.

“So you guessed correct,” a queen said, one he thought was named Dame Jasmine. “And very good reasoning. We do adore him. He’s our everything.” The boy blushed and nodded, murmuring in faint protest.

“So, what about you, hot stuff? What’s your name?”

“Yes, what do you do?”

“Are you single?”

“He better be, approaching us like this.”

“How much money do you make, more importantly?”

Chris gulped and wiped his hands on the flexed material over his thighs. The boy waited, cheek perched merrily on his fist again. He was so sweet, Chris couldn’t breathe.

“My name’s Chris,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “I’m a stock broker. I think I make pretty decent money.” The words died on his tongue, edgy as they crowded in over him, blocking out the rest of the club. “And I’m single.”

“Oooh, girl, there it is!”

A long acrylic nail tipped his chin up and he inhaled nervously. 

“Good,” their apparent leader said, glaring with all the power of an ancient goddess. “No funny games for the empress. He deserves only the best.”

“I—I—I wouldn’t!” Just the thought shocked Chris into stammering.

The queen smiled, pleased with his reaction.

A hand appeared on the small of his back, soft and soothing, rubbing small circles. He knew it was the golden-haired boy at his side, and he breathed out a shaky breath, calmed.

Fingers from all directions roved gently over his face, scratched lightly through his hair, squeezed at his biceps, the queens exclaiming at his physique and rugged beauty – their words, not his. He held still for them, comforted by the hand on his back, the warm and calm presence beside him.

“Even his five-o’clock shadow looks good,” one grumbled. “I don’t appreciate that at all.”

“Now how does a stud like you come to us single? Is it our lucky day, ladies?” They crooned in agreement. “Go on and tell us. What’s your story? Any baggage? You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

And because there was no way he was going to slip free of the huddle of queens without losing his chance with their empress, he began with describing his work, trying not to make it too boring.

“So you like numbers, huh?” He nodded. “And sports, sure.”

“What were you like in high school – a football player?”

“Oh please, Clarisse, you were under enough of the football players to be able to identify one from across a crowded room!”

They started arguing above his head and Chris slid his gaze to the side, sweat beading under his shirt. The hand at his back grazed higher, blue eyes blinking softly at him.

“I’m Tom,” he said. “But you can call me Empress.”

They laughed, laced in shifting shadows from the tall queens standing over them, blocking the ceiling lights.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Empress Tom.”

Tom laughed again, tongue poking out between his teeth."Sorry about the shakedown. They rather love me."

“As they should. And it's really alright. I understand. You’re very beautiful, Tom. I’m so happy I stopped by tonight.”

“Do you not usually?”

“No. I wish I did more often, though.”

“I don’t usually, either.” Tom pursed his lips in thought, eyeing Chris’s back. “You’re radiating warmth.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“And they make you nervous.” Another grin.

Chris chuckled quietly. “Yes.”

A curious hum. “Do I?”

Softly, “A little.”

Tom considered him for a short moment, long-lashed doe. “Paulette?”

The queens whipped their colorful heads down at them, curled tresses billowing everywhere, perfectly lined lips framing mega-watt smiles. “Yes, love?”

“Chris here is going to buy me a drink. I’ll be right back.”

“You want one of us to come with you?” The protective group mentality was something Chris had always found extremely intelligent in female minds, and he appreciated their concern for Tom, but it was unfounded, in his case anyway.

“No one’s going to touch him,” Chris heard himself say, and Tom nodded with a small smile, the queens starting up their fawning again. Chris stood and held his hand out to Tom, who took it and rose to his feet. There were miles to that frame, unfolding easily until he stood nearly eye-to-eye with Chris. Seeing him now made Chris’s mouth dry, eyes drifting down Tom’s thin form, nearly having a seizure at the sight of the metallic gold hot pants that turned out not to be a mini-skirt. High-waisted with a gold zipper up one side of his hip, the material curved low enough to barely cover each of Tom’s buttocks, the plump swell of them like a magnet for Chris’s hands. And the front, just the smallest mound, the faintest bulge, snug between creamy, netted thighs.

Chris managed to swallow through the desert in his mouth and kept a hand at Tom’s lower back, guiding him from the glowing circle over the plush sofas.

The queens tailed them a few feet. “We’ll be right here waiting!”

Darkness spotted over his sight for a moment before the rest of the room zoomed into focus. Dozens of eyes tracked their progress through the arch into the main part of the club. Tom took Chris’s hand again, sticking close to his side, but kept his eyes on their observers, a happily defiant gleam in them, daring and quietly provocative. With such a man on his arm, Chris’s heart rate tripled, disbelieving the turn of events. It seemed suddenly impossible to him that he might have been at home this very moment, heating up some leftovers for dinner, shedding his work clothes and climbing into bed to dream his lonely dreams. Tom’s hand in his own wouldn’t feel so wonderful, so long and soft, squeezing sweetly. That he wouldn’t know this touch at all confounded him.

What had he found here, this person, in this club that he hadn’t even planned on visiting?

The thought was too painful.

Clearing a spot at the edge of the bar, Chris angled Tom in and kept an arm around his back, cutting a warning glare at those around them. He was reminded rather alarmingly, by the quickly lowered gazes, of his size and strength. In the corporate world, with its cubicles and stifling columns of numbers, it was easy to forget.

Tom ordered a vodka cranberry and Chris another bourbon, giving each other a smiling glance before breaking away with a small laugh.

“It’s my birthday,” Tom said once their drinks were placed before them.

“I noticed,” Chris said, taking a sip. “How old?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“You look younger.”

“Do I?”

“Much, much younger.”

“Do you like younger men?”

“I like you.”

Another charming blush, another bitten-lipped smile. “And what about you? Twenty-five, twenty-six?”

“I’m thirty.”

“Ah,” he sang prettily. “Perfect.” He clinked his glass against the rim of Chris’s drink and winked. Gesturing down at himself, he said, “They like dolling me up. I usually don’t go with this kind of—.” He shrugged and flipped his wrist up. “Flamboyance. I mean, boots like these are not easy to come by. But being this bare, in public, it’s a little scary, and also thrilling. Yet they say, quite erroneously, that I’m the prettiest boy they’ve ever seen, so I let them play.” He shrugged dismissively, saying it in that unique way that didn’t sound boastful, only bashfully matter-of-fact. The glitter on his eyelids and lashes, the strawberry pink lip-gloss, the blushing apple cheeks, Chris agreed wholeheartedly with the queens. He cleared his throat and found his voice.

“So you don’t usually dress like this?”

“Not really, no.”

“Shame. It suits you.”

Tom ducked his eyes low, and even in the low light of the club, Chris could tell he was flushed. “Thank you,” he whispered, but Chris saw it more than heard it. Lounging by the bar proved to be more relaxing than Chris originally thought. Tom was a lovely mixture of shy flirtation and cool self-possession. He talked about how he knew the queens, working as a stage manager at The Loft, scheduling their shows and helping them dress every night.

“They are the sweetest friends, so protective, so generous. I probably wouldn’t have done anything for my birthday if they hadn’t already made plans.”

Frowning, Chris stepped a little closer. Already, with Tom pressed to the bar and people crowding in behind them, their bellies were only inches apart, feet shuffling closely. “Why wouldn’t you have done anything?”

Tom shrugged, blinking bravely up at him. “No one to do anything with.”

“That can’t be,” Chris whispered, sliding his hand down Tom’s bare arm, cupping his elbow.

“It is. I’m rather…” he shrugged and lifted his drink to his lips. “Alone.” Leaning in to hear him finish, Chris barely felt when someone knocked into his back, a fellow patron, tipsy perhaps, a bit wobbly on his feet. Chris stumbled forward, his chest bumping Tom’s drink. Red liquid sloshed over the rim and splattered his wrist, dripping to the floor.

They stared at the spill, the diamonds on Tom’s lashes trembling as he exhaled. _Oh_.

Moving fast, Chris took the drink from Tom’s hand and brought his wrist up to his mouth, closing his lips over the delicate, soft skin. Warm, warm, firm, sticky. He slipped his tongue between his teeth and nudged the pulse beating there wildly, and Tom, all pale-winged angel, glitter dust and pink cowboy boots, let his head fall back with a stuttered moan, long swan-column bobbing. Thin fingers curled into Chris’s hair and Chris lifted his head, met hazy-dream eyes, stared at parted lips pink from rush of blood and cranberry stain.

Tom whispered his name, a breathy gust on his cheek, and Chris couldn’t resist anymore. He thrust his chin forward and closed his lips over Tom’s mouth. Liquor and fruit burst between them, Tom’s long arms winding around his neck, nails digging through his shirt, twisting over his scalp.

Oh please let him be a scratcher, a hair-puller, a biter, a screamer. Chris wanted to know in every way how he made Tom feel, how it all manifested in his body, what it made him do, how it made him sound, how he might tremble beneath him. He tasted exactly as Chris imagined he might, all strawberry glaze and Cola pop. And Tom, sparkle-smeared and grinning, drew back with a smacked exhale, stared him all over his face, jumped forward for more. Abandoning their drinks, gripped hands and stuttered laughs, they stumbled to the hallway leading to the bathrooms, dimmed by a redder haze, paper flyers stapled to the walls, framed pictures of famous performers, icons who’d visited the club, celebrities and singers that had lived and laughed and loved like he hoped he and Tom might.

“Will they come looking?” Chris rasped, mouthing at Tom’s neck, seeking that floral scent that enticed him so.

“Oh, yes.” Tom nodded, making a delicious little whimper when Chris breathed at his ear. “When they don’t see me at the bar.”

“Then let’s get out of here. All of us. Let’s go grab breakfast. My treat. Pancakes and eggs. Milkshakes, maybe.”

With a small groan, Tom gazed at him. “Milk.”

Watching him lick his lips, lashes drooping with weighted gemstones, Chris suddenly knew that Tom meant something else entirely.

“Let me take you home with me.” Voice rough, urgent.

Breathing hard, head reclined on the wall, Tom scrutinized him. “You want me to go home with you?”

“Yes.” He swallowed, trying to clear his head. “Or I could go to your place. Or, or whatever makes you feel safest, most comfortable. I just—.” He licked his lips, eyes falling, blinking fast. But Tom saved him from more babbling, cupping his hands on Chris’s cheeks and making him meet his gaze.

“I’d like that. You’re very sweet and affectionate. And sincere. It’s plain on your face. I can tell a lot from a person’s face, and I rather love yours.” A soft caress on Chris’s jaw, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest. “I’ll go home with you. But your place first.”

Relief erupted like a dam in his chest, and he nodded quickly. “Okay.”

Another hard, deep kiss, full of promise, Tom’s tongue a warm muscle slipping over his own, and then they walked briskly through the hallway, giving each other long side-glances, all stifled laughter and hand squeezes. The Empress’ devoted subjects welcomed them back with giant embraces and teasing catcalls. They all sat around the sofas for a while longer, Chris feeling a privileged part of the group, unlike the rest of the hopefuls lingering in the shadows. His suggestion of breakfast was met with enthusiastic cheers, the queens rushing to gather all of Tom’s gifts and any leftover cake. It was after one in the morning when they bustled out of the club, the cold night air hitting them like a wall. In his barely-there hot pants and tiny corset, Tom’s skin erupted in chills, smiling gratefully when Chris put an arm around him. Click-clacking high heels and playful, loud banter from the queens, Chris kept Tom snug at his side, laughing with them, smiling, adoring them. They were colorful and exuberant, shameless in their thirst for the full spectrum of a well-lived, exciting life. He could certainly learn from such exemplary role models, and he would start with the young man shivering against him, who with shy blinks and smiling lips, seemed to be filled with honesty and beauty, quiet confidence and happiness, and who smelled like everything Chris might hope heaven was like.

Toting birthday bags and trailing streamers and balloons, some of the queens piled into Chris’s car with Tom, and the others into their own vehicles, but they all met at the twenty-four hour diner where Sister Ray knew the cook. They were served platters of pancakes and steaming eggs and bacon, syrup drizzling from plate to plate.

“I’m gonna have to hit the treadmill tomorrow,” Annabel Lee moaned, clutching her flat, muscled belly.

“Good, run some for me, because you know I’ll still be in bed, girl!”

Their laughter rose like bubbles to the ceiling, and Tom leaned into Chris, planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. He wore Chris’s jacket, only a little big on him, his mile-long legs crossed under the table.

“Thank you for this. This was very sweet.”

“You’re welcome, Tom. I would love to be able to spend more time with you.”

The others’ conversation cut in sharply.

“Paulette is so like our mother.”

Something crashed to the floor, a hollow thud.

“I am so not the mother!”

“Shut your face! Frankie’s gonna come out here and threaten to make us wash dishes again!”

"He's only teasing. We all know the man's half in love with you."

" _Half_ in love? Girl, who are you talking to? He loves me completely."

Tom covered his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he laughed. “Maybe somewhere more private. And quieter. Just the two of us.”

His voice was so lovely, deep and smooth, nearly every word clipped, alcohol having rounded the edges of only every other. A hand at the back of his neck, Chris stroked the stray hairs curling there, brushed against the cold silver locket without its key, and nodded.

“Yes, I’d like that. I’d like to take you to dinner, and shows, and concerts, and art receptions, and the zoo, and the carnival, and sports games, and—.” Tom’s eyes crinkled as his smile grew wider and wider. Sitting there with his glitter and bright cheeks, he was regal and flamboyant all the same, a lovely mixture of calm bedevilment.

He piped in where Chris left off. “And we can visit the butterfly gardens and the castle ruins and stay in bed most Sundays, and dance every Saturday, and kiss under lampposts on foggy nights.”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed, tilting his head and pressing their lips together. He almost forgot where they were and with whom, barely inclining their bodies forward, hand inching toward that gold zipper at Tom’s hip.

“Heyyyy now!” came the yell. “None of that frisky business here! Or you’ll get hosed down with cold water _before_ you start washing dishes!”

Chris jolted back, Tom’s arms still locked around him. Eyes unfocused, Tom pressed his forehead to Chris’s cheek and gave a short, delighted laugh, joined by his friends as they teased them.

“Our Empress is smitten.”

“They both are!”

“But they are cute. I say we carry them aloft on our shoulders like people used to do in the old days!”

“Just because you’re old, Gwen.”

An outraged gasp. “You have some nerve—.”

“Alright,” Tom said, raising his voice, his laughter dying down. “You are all the most beautiful queens I’ve ever seen.” They sank down into their seats, placated at his praise. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing me out tonight.”

“Well, we couldn’t have left you at home by yourself with another of your documentaries.”

“Not after all that you do for us.”

“Yes, we love you, Tom. And we wouldn’t have the amazing shows that we do without you.”

Blushing, Tom ducked his head. “I love you all too. You were my first friends here. My dearest friends. It’s a pleasure working with you, exploring with you, laughing and loving.”

Jacqueline smirked. “Oh, he’ll be doing some looo-ving tonight.”

Paulette smacked her arm. “Do shut up! You’re so crass.”

Jacqueline grabbed the sore spot, flash of purple acrylic nails. “Okay fine! Geeze. Thanks, _mom_!”

Dame Jasmine yawned and hung her bright pink head back against the chair. “Honestly, how old are we, anyway.”

The group of them swung around at her. “Don’t even, Jas!”

And giggling at their renewed antics, Tom hid his face in Chris’s shoulder as Chris called for the check, giddy with the knowledge of having made such perfect new and beautiful friends.

**

Later that very early morning, after promising the queens they would call them for lunch, as the sun rose over the east mountains, his bedroom windows fogged around the edges, Chris pressed Tom flat to his bed, their tongues winding smoothly, legs twisting around each other. Flecks of glitter spotted his sheets the more they rolled around, tasting skin, sucking it red, made to mark.

They giggled and clung, whispered and moaned, craning necks and arching spines, candy to devour.

With a considerable show of strength, Tom pushed at Chris’s shoulders and reversed their positions, straddling his waist. He rocked his hips forward and back, rubbing Chris’s swelling cock between his thin legs, sighing his name, the hot pants barely holding him where his legs parted so widely.

“Big…boy,” Tom murmured, growing increasingly short of breath from the corset. Eyes rolling back, he kept rocking on Chris, the skin around his mouth tightening just slightly from discomfort, lack of air, or maybe something other, something more delicate. Chris imagined that if Tom was getting hard, he might be experiencing more pain from being tucked so expertly.

Moving quickly, he left Tom’s choker on, the leather edges of it snagging under his fingertips, but unlaced the ties at the back of his corset, pressing gentle kisses to the creased skin from thin metal rods as effective as whale bone used to be, and just as unforgiving. Exposing Tom’s pink nipples was as erotic to Chris as if a full bosom had fallen free, licking at the tiny peaks, trailing the tip of his nose through Tom’s soft chest hair.

“Unzip me,” Tom gasped, taking a deep breath of air after the confining corset. “Unzip. Chris, please.”

Fumbling at the gold zipper, Chris watched, fascinated as each tooth separated one by one, Tom’s tiny waist trembling as he held still for him. Once all the way down, Chris grabbed the edges of the hot pants and shoved them down over Tom’s buttocks.

Tom’s whimper was loud, forever etched in Chris’s mind. But it was the fishnet leggings he was wearing that widened Chris’s eyes, drawing his gaze low, hands curling around the backs of his thighs.

There, hidden under the waistband, was a delicate silver key, winking at him.

“Is this—?” he started, sitting up on an elbow.

“Yeah,” Tom said, grinning. “It certainly is.”

Desire bloomed in him like a red tidal wave, crashing and consuming. There were butterfly wing-beats in his head, lace growing along his skin, vines snagging through his hair as he imagined burying himself in the sweet earth of Tom’s core. He was floating and engulfing, absorbing and caressing, building up to only break, the greatest rush of pleasure.

Flipping Tom onto his back again, Chris slowly removed the metallic gold hot pants, unsticking them from his taut skin. Arms flopped up over his head, gazing at him under lashes still heavy with diamonds, Tom gave short little gasps, lips still pink with cranberry, sticky from syrup. He was tucked away under the netted leggings, a small bulge yet. But rising up to his elbows he kissed Chris hard, and then turned over on his hands and knees.

“I played with myself earlier, alone at home. I never—.” Gasp. “ I never imagined I might meet someone I would want to feel this with. But then…oh, god. I don’t want to wait. Hurry.”

All the blood rushed to Chris’s core, and he almost doubled over in pain. Tripping off the bed, he went to the bureau drawer and brought out lube and condoms. Tom had a hand down the front of his leggings, moving it between his thighs, the material like black wispy shapes over his pale skin. At his back again, Chris dropped the items on the mattress and climbed onto the bed between Tom’s legs, roving one big hand over the perfect curve of his ass, the netting tickling his fingertips.

In one bold move, he pinched the material under his nails and dug his fingers into the empty space between the netting and Tom’s skin, tearing it smoothly, a gutted hole exposing Tom’s buttocks.

“Yes!” Tom gasped, peeking at him over his shoulder, his eyes lit with small flames. “Oh, god yes. _Fuck me_.”

Fumbling, uncapping the bottle of lube, Chris didn’t even bother with the top button of his trousers. Pulling down the zipper, he eased himself out, hard cock and heavy balls. He slipped the condom on, rolling it down his length, and then drizzled lube on his cock and over Tom’s hole, a pink pucker. Testing it out, he pressed a finger gently in, slow, slow, heart skipping as Tom’s flesh gave easily.

Unhooking the silver key from the string on Tom’s waistband, Chris kept it wrapped in one palm, guiding himself in with the other. The squeeze was divine, sinking in past the muscle, inner walls hugging him snugly. Tom whispered a litany of filthy, sweet things, head hanging forward, the locket behind his choker catching Chris’s eye. Another inch and they both froze, groaning.

Leaning forward carefully, Chris took the locket and pressed the key in, turning it with a quick flick. The clasp sprung open and the choker fell free of Tom’s neck, and just as he gasped, Chris pushed in the rest of the way.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tom cried, the choker puddled on the bed, his own cock still trapped in his leggings, the tip flaming red and spilling a thick juice through the netted gaps, drip, drip, drip.

The suction, the wet heat of him, it started a ringing in Chris’s head, a hollow-drum noise, a deafening. Eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, he held himself inside Tom to the very root, fingers digging into his slim hips. Tom arched his back and rolled his hips, needing him to move, and Chris did, pulling back and then in, an excruciating, magnificent slide, a slip, a welcoming.

Gaining his balance, one foot propped on the bed, practically hunched over him, Chris hurried his pace, ramming in. Flesh smacking wetly, moans and gasps blossoming between them, they collided and clawed, nearly violent, always careful, reaching back for kisses, surging forward to bury deep.

“So…heavy,” Tom exhaled, pressed flat to the bed. Chris immediately let up.

“I’m sorry—.”

“No! Not a bad thing. Come back here. Come here. Get on me. Yeah. Yeah, like that. Cover me.”

Spread over his wispy frame, Chris felt he might crush Tom, conscientious of his thrusts, how far on Tom he lay. But Tom, both arms reached backward, hands clawed into the meat of his thighs, tugged him harder, wanted him deeper, begged for it.

“Don’t stop. Oh, please. I’m close.”

Pressed between his belly and the bed, Tom’s cock must surely be near bursting, cheeks ruddy, eyes half-lidded. Chris suddenly couldn’t stand not looking at him face to face as he came, and moving as quickly as their racing orgasms would allow, he pulled out and flipped Tom, hushing Tom’s broken whine of protest with a long kiss. As he pushed in again, Tom broke away with a cry, hugging Chris close, rolling the cradle of his thighs to get him as deep as possible.

“Yes, you’re perfect,” he breathed, his abandon rounding out his vowels. “The feel of you, your weight. Fuck, Chris, I’m going to, going to—.”

Chris held himself up, eyes wide on Tom beneath him. Seizing hard, mouth parted, eyes rolling back, Tom’s entire body began pulsing, cream erupting in his leggings, hole contracting around Chris, his chest flooding with color. Neck veins popping, Tom trembled and writhed, but didn’t breathe.

And it was something Chris would learn with time, that Tom forgot to breathe after climaxing, that the pleasure was so intense his lungs simply froze, content to burst into dust. But this first time, Chris couldn’t avoid panicking.

“Babe? Baby? Hey. Tom?” Slowing his hips, he took Tom’s face in both hands and pressed quick, urgent kisses to his face, murmuring, wanting him back. “Don’t go away. Stay with me. Stay.”

With another rough shudder, Tom inhaled raggedly, shaking his head left to right, disoriented.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked, eyes an inch apart.

Dazed, Tom blinked up at him, lashes brilliant and wet. “Yes,” he sighed, stroking Chris’s hair, smiling prettily. “Yes, I’m perfectly okay.”

Exhaling, relieved, Chris asked, “Can I move?”

“Yes! My darling, yes, of course.” Wrapping him close, Tom nuzzled his face, whispering sweetly, petting him as Chris pumped into him, frantic and eager. At his ear, breath hot and gusting, he whispered, “Come on me. Cover me with it. Please.” Climbing to his knees, Chris held Tom by the hips, slamming in hard until he felt his abdomen start to tighten, the throbbing in his balls. He pulled out and tore the condom off, pumping his cock twice before coming with a flood of static noise in his head, Tom’s chest arched high to receive the spurting strings of white. With his long legs spread wide on either side of him like butterfly wings, Tom moaned and touched his fingertips to the globs of cum, tantalizing little dabs that made Chris dizzy with need. Collapsing forward on him, warm cum smearing between them, he gathered Tom close and kissed him again and again, loud smacks and grunts. Sucking at his jaw, Tom held him by the ears, one of the most intimate things Chris had ever experienced. It reminded him of sunlight on his face.

There was none of the awkward immediate-after that Chris so dreaded, the look-aways, the throat clearings, the mumbled departures. Tom was playful and adorable, kissing him endlessly, keen on lying with him in bed. There was quiet talk for a short while, but they grew silent as the sun rose higher in the sky, exhausted and sated, content to lie there and nap with one another.

When Chris woke again, it was early afternoon and he was alone in the bed. Still limp and hanging out of his trousers, he sat up with a grimace, squinting an eye around the room. It was empty, sadly so.

“Oh,” he whispered, blinking down with shame hot around his ears. His wallet was still on the nightstand, his keys just beside it, glitter sprinkled on the sheets. He was zipping himself back up when the bathroom door opened and Tom walked out, wearing his blue robe, freshly showered. Chris almost couldn’t believe it, thinking he was a hallucination of sorts, but then Tom smiled and wiggled a finger in his damp ear.

“Didn’t know how you felt about showering together, so I jumped ahead of you. Hope that’s alright.”

He was clean of everything, no makeup, no glitter, no diamond lashes. The robe ended mid-calf, the arms swallowing him, he looked plain and normal and absolutely stunning, skin luminous, eyes wider and bluer without the shimmering shadow. The longer Chris stared, the more Tom began to fidget, smiling down at the floor, nervous.

“If it wasn’t okay, I’m sorry—.”

“You stayed,” Chris blurted out, a goofy wide smile breaking out on his face.

Tom returned it, looking even younger than before. He shuffled his feet, hands slipping into the robe’s pockets. “Of course. I, well, I really like you, Chris.”

And because he was dizzy with hunger and still glowing post-coitus, Chris sank down on the edge of the bed, his chest expanding with light. Tom was immediately before him, concern dragging his brows low.

“Darling, are you well? Do you need water?”

“No. I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just…I’m stupid happy right now.”

Tom gave a long laugh. “Yeah? Because of me?”

Chris took his wrists, kissed the insides. “Yes.” Tom’s gaze softened, looking down at him, curls still wet. “Come here.”

Chris pulled him to the bed, falling down beside each other, bouncing and embracing easily. They shared a kiss, Tom’s moan cutting straight through the center of Chris.

“Will you still like me like this, without all that extra?” Tom’s voice was soft, careful, fingers gentle on his face.

But Chris, embracing him tightly over the rumpled sheets, breathed at his neck and adored the smell of his own soap there. “Yes,” he whispered. “Very, very much.”

He pushed his leg between Tom’s, and then glanced down, surprised. Parting the robe, he reached down and cupped Tom’s limp penis, heavy and sagging between his legs, plump and long, a considerable size.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, and Tom, bright red, chuckled into the pillow. “Your tuck game is fucking on point.”

Tossing his head back, Tom’s throat bobbed as he laughed heartily again. “Of course it is. I learned only from the best.”

And as if summoned, there was a loud knock at the front door, faint enough at that distance from the bedroom.

“Hello in there! So one of us followed you home last night and now we’re all here to make sure our Empress is okay! Ya’ll better be ready to go because it is noon thirty and we are _starving_!”

Beaming, Chris was already flying to his feet, leaving Tom cocooned against the pillows, hands on his face as he laughed and laughed, ready to show his devoted subjects just how perfectly fine and safe their Empress was, and would continue to be.

 

 

End.


End file.
